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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102288">A whole story can be told in a single word (A Station 19 One Shot/Drabble Series)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrafreakyfangirl/pseuds/ultrafreakyfangirl'>ultrafreakyfangirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Station 19 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabbles, Multi, Not ship specific, open to prompts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:13:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30102288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrafreakyfangirl/pseuds/ultrafreakyfangirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I promise I will come up with a better title. (I probably won't). As of right now, I'm planning to do all of the characters, the ships varying, so this isn't necessarily going to be ship-specific. Each chapter will have the ship somewhere in the author's note at the beginning - so just look for that if you're into a specific ship. This is going to be primarily drabbles because blurbs help with writer's block and ease my little heart that is more often than not too afraid to commit to longer works.  Other than that - enjoy the ride! Updates will hopefully be frequent.</p><p>Just to help you guys out (A key for what chapter corresponds to what ship - you're welcome :)<br/>Chapter:<br/>1 - "A Place We Knew" - Jack/Andy<br/>2 - "Lost on You" - Jack/Andy<br/>3 - "Beneath Your Beautiful" - Maya/Carina<br/>4 - "you bleed just to know you're alive" - Andy/Robert<br/>5 - “To Build A Home” - Andy/Ryan</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy Herrera/Robert Sullivan, Andy Herrera/Ryan Tanner, Jack Gibson/Andy Herrera, Maya Bishop/Carina DeLuca, Victoria Hughes/Dean Miller, Victoria Hughes/Lucas Ripley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Place We Knew</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Author's Note: So, I just binged Station 19 and I absolutely adore Andy. Agh. I ship her with literally anybody, but right now, I'm into the Jack/Andy pairing, because I really feel like Jack didn't get a real shot with her. I wish we saw more. I wish we could have seen Andy's feelings develop instead of brushed off like they were to make their relationship seem so one-sided. They're cute friends, but I think they would still be cuter as something more, and that they were robbed. So, I wrote this.</p><p>It takes place in the realm of season two, specifically after the skyscraper fire. If you like it, let me know! I love reviews! We'll see how much traction this gets, and maybe I'll write more – there's not too many Jack/Andy shippers out there and I'm proud to be one.</p><p>This is called "A Place We Knew"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>every moment we had stolen was a feeling</em>
  <br/>
  <em>'Cause it never mattered where we were</em>
  <br/>
  <em>'Cause we were falling in love</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Your heart is my home, your heart is my home</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Your heart is my home, and I'm not letting go</em>
</p><hr/><p>He knocked quietly on the door – the door he knows that she's on the other side of – but not quietly enough so as not to wake her. He needs her to wake up. He needs her to hear him. He needs her to…he just needs her.</p><p>He heard the smallest sounds of shuffling on the other side, maybe it was her rolling over, or switching the sides of her pillow, he'd slept next to her for long enough, knew her, he'd like to think intimately enough, and not how intimate was a synonym for sex, but how intimate was being able to predict, or knowing the sounds of, a person's routines, their idiosyncrasies, their very next move.</p><p>He opened the door, peeking his head in and she looked at him, a little bleary eyed, her skin around them puffy. He hated to think that she'd been crying before she fell asleep, but he wasn't a fool, he wasn't dumb, because of course she had been. Of course. She's been through hell, and it didn't really seem like she'd even made it back. Maybe, he naively thought, she needs him, too.</p><p>"Can I sleep here?"</p><p>They've been doing this regularly since the skyscraper. Jack hasn't slept alone since the hospital, and that was a week ago, now. He couldn't imagine what it would be like, what it would be like to sleep without her now, and he didn't want to. He really didn't want to. And he didn't know what that meant, not exactly; he didn't know much of anything for certain these days, but he knew one – he missed her. A lot. He missed being with her like this.</p><p>She motioned for him to come in, groggy still, so beautifully disoriented, and made room for him to slip in beside her, and without him having to say anything, she wrapped her arms around him, tightly, decisively, and nestled in close to him. He could feel her nose in between his shoulder blades, her breath coming from her lips in heavy, soft, sighs, entrenched still, in sleep.</p><p>What felt like hours later, but may have been only minutes, he woke up in a sudden, intense panic, sweaty and thrashing around. Try as he might, he couldn't get his eyes to open, couldn't voluntarily do much of anything, let alone speak; it's like he was stuck, stuck in some scenario, some vision, some flashback of sorts – because there, behind his eyelids, was drywall, debris, plaster – trapping him, trapping him there, trapping him in this tiny space and he can barely move.</p><p>He can barely make a sound, can feel his eyes closing, his will dissolving, breaking into fragments he can't hold on to anymore, and in those pieces he can see something, someone, but he's doing nothing, he can't do anything.</p><p>He might be vaguely aware of speaking, of saying something, because outside of it, outside of whatever the fuck this is, he can hear someone – himself – he can hear himself now, repeating something over and over – but still, he doesn't know, but he can hear another voice, sees a flash of something else – brown hair, olive skin, both equally exotic and mediocre at the same time, both belonging to someone pretty, someone he trusts, someone, he understands now, that he loves most in this world.</p><p>It was the same person he had seen in those last minutes, last seconds, of consciousness, but this is different – then, before, he was feeling outside of his body, but now, he's slowly, lethargically, coming in towards himself again, and he's actively forcing himself to get back to his physical body, to feel one with it, again, instead of separate.</p><p>He needed to go back, no matter how much it was hurting him. He wanted to be there again, despite the hurt, because the pain of here, of this moment in time, that feeling of being so utterly, unapologetically close to death, was so much worse.</p><p>She's reaching out to him, he can see that, he can see her hand coming close to him, touching him, gripping him by the shoulders, saying something, repeating it, repeating it again, and again, and again, but still he can't – he doesn't – there – there, he hears it, he hears her, for the first time, he is able to hear her, see her, clearly, visibly, and he sees now that she is truly there, beside him, holding him, talking to him; and little by little the place he had been before, at one point in real time, but he comes to terms with the fact that now, right now, isn't that time, and where he is, right now, isn't there, but it's here, here with her. Safe. Sound. Loved.</p><p>"Jack…babe, babe, come here, come back to me, I'm here. You're not there. You're at the station. In a bed. With me."</p><p>He could feel her hands on him now, her palms on his cheeks, her fingers carding through his hair, her breath against his eyelids, and he finally managed to blink, once, twice, and then open his eyes completely, and the first thing he could see was hers staring at him, intrusively, but he appreciated it. It meant that she cared. It grounded him.</p><p>When he spoke at first, his voice was reluctant, but he swallowed thickly, worked hard on shoving the residual terror he'd felt deep in his bones, his being, far away. It couldn't reach him now. Not when he was with her, holding her hands, looking at her face, coaxing himself back to earth in time with her breathing.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>She smiled at him and the relief palpable on her face. She has such a beautiful face.</p><p>"You're welcome."</p><p>It shocks him sometimes, and he sometimes thinks it's unfair that one person gets to keep so much of the physical beauty in the world to themselves, but then he remembers that she's just as genuine, just as sweet, and spunky and unpredictable and loud and the beauty within her is not just her appearance, and that, somehow, makes it fair.</p><p>Did you call me babe before? When I was..."</p><p>He couldn't bring himself to say having an episode or some variation, not yet. It would make it all the more real, and he wasn't ready for it to be real.</p><p>"Yeah...sorry."</p><p>"Are you really sorry?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"Then don't say it."</p><p>When they kiss it's not the kind of kiss that immediately precedes sex; it's the kind of kiss that warms your insides and makes your stomach flutter...it's new.</p><p>"That was a tough call today," she sighed, shifting her position a little. "Two little kids and a dog. The parents…they never made it out. And the whole time I was thinking about you and – and what that must have been like."</p><p>He moved too, held her closer, tighter, with a sigh; right now, he was an echo of her. He buried his lips in her hair, inhaled the delicate scent of a flower, and it wasn't like her at all, the shampoo, but one look at her face, broken, sad, unnerved, and it was. She was only human.</p><p>"I'm sorry. About the skyscraper. I didn't listen to you. I was stubborn. Pig headed. Righteous. Whatever."</p><p>Even though Andy Herrera was built like a damn steel wall, mentally, and to be honest, physically (that part was hot; before, when they would have sex, and now, when they're...having sex, he swears he could spend hours kissing her inner thighs, running his hands across her abdomen en-route to her chest...), he had to remind himself that she was only human. And so was he.</p><p>This - the lilac, the holding, the kissing, the dreams, it was all a reminder of that.</p><p>"No," she responded. "Don't be. You were doing what you thought was best– you wanted to save more people, you wanted to keep searching, you were being heroic and it's all a part of the job."</p><p>"It is. But it's not. We don't – we aren't supposed to. To be a hero. Not if it's not necessary. Safety matters. It matters for us, too. And I should have honored that. Firefighter lives first."</p><p>She nodded softly. Looked like she preferred that to speaking at all. Her voice was even softer. A whisper of the real thing.</p><p>"I was being selfish. I cared more about getting you out then the fifty or so odd lives we were going to lose. My heart – my heart was too far in it. I let it take the place of my head."</p><p>He pressed his mouth against her head, liked the feel of her scalp, as weird as that probably sounded in the moment.</p><p>"I should have honored it," he said again, thought that maybe repeating himself would force him to understand the gravity of the situation. "I should have honored you."</p><p>She moved her own lips and they quickly and fiercely ghosted his temple, and then they were real, pressed hard against his skin, like she was trying to make up for the sadness, the pity, he felt for himself.</p><p>"I don't need you to honor me. I don't need anyone to do that."</p><p>This time it was his turn, his voice only a shadow of the real thing, too raspy, too quiet. Ashamed and small. Cowardly.</p><p>"I could have died. I knew that. I seriously, no doubt about it, could have been gone from this world forever. So many people – you, Miller, the rest of 19, I would have put you all through so much grief, and for what?"</p><p>It was there now, in front of his face, the reality of what could have been, what almost was, and, selfishly now, it was his turn, he didn't want to think about it. It wouldn't help any. He needed to swallow it, to push it down. Deep down.</p><p>"It's not your fault, Jack. You were acting on a whim, sure, but it could have happened to anyone on the team. Montgomery, Hughes, Bishop, Miller, me. I would have done it, too."</p><p>The image of Andy trapped – trapped there, unable to move, like he was, slowly and surely losing feeling in his legs, his arms, the tingles becoming nothing at all, his grief over his own life turning into acceptance of his own damn death, all of that, all of that, on her, it made him sick.</p><p>It made him angry, and he couldn't fight the brutal and sudden urge he had to lash out. He had to get rid of the feeling somehow before it asphyxiated him.</p><p>"It is my fault. How is it not my fucking fault!?"</p><p>Andy flinched at the word fuck. He watched her. A tiny, unobtrusive movement, not observable to a non watchful eye. Except he was always watching her these days. He had to know that she was okay.</p><p>It wasn't like her, being sensitive to the word, she wasn't a prude, as a female firefighter she could get down with the guys, sex jokes abound, among other things, fuck being only one of the words tossed around, the cavalier attitude with which was almost shocking, but today, today was obviously different. Today, okay she is not.</p><p>"It's not your fault, babe. It's not."</p><p>There it was again. That word. Babe. He wouldn't lie and say that the word didn't stir things up for him.</p><p>It reminded him of domesticity. The two of them cuddled together in the captain's bunk in what seemed like eons ago now, she almost asleep on his chest, he massaging her caramel, creamy, skin down, up, down up, and blathering on about some bed and breakfast and home, what he wanted home to be like, for him, for them. He wondered what she thought about all of that now if she were even thinking about it at all. Really thinking about it. He always thought about it. More than he should.</p><p>It seemed like she hadn't even noticed; or, she had, and was just supremely good at hiding it. She was good at that. Hiding things. From most, but not from him. She likes to think so, but he knows her more than she cares to admit. It makes her squirm.</p><p>Andy put her hand on his shoulder, rubbed soft, slow, deep, circles into the muscles, and the feeling kind of luxurious. He nearly groaned in satisfaction. If he had, would she have found it hot?</p><p>He nearly moved his head an increment so he could kiss her, capture her lips and tongue with his, but refrained. Although it's been the world's best numbing agent, he didn't want that, not right now.</p><p>He wasn't interested in having that be all her kissing, all of her kissing, all of the sex, was good for because it was good for so many other things. He wanted to be reminded of all of those other things. Wanted to feel them.</p><p>"It's not your fault," she said to him again before he could think about this any further. "You stayed. You decided. The unpredictable happened. It's as simple as that."</p><p>"Yeah but I - "</p><p>She grabbed his face in both of her hands, one on each cheek, the pads of her fingers intending his flesh as she stared into his eyes, unblinking, searching. If it were anybody else, he'd feel like he were being scrutinized but it wasn't. She wasn't just anybody else.</p><p>She leaned in and kissed him. First long, open mouthed, very gracious with her tongue.<br/>Then she drew back, a small, impish smile on her lips because he couldn't hold back a sound of contentment, didn't even try.</p><p>He almost moaned again at the sight of her fingers touching her lips, swollen, red, then her chin, to rid them of saliva. His saliva, their saliva mixed together. It was oddly, stupidly, erotic.<br/>Her next kiss was different, chaste, soft. Opposite, and gentle.</p><p>"It's." Another kiss, just like the one before, she seemed to be using them to punctuate her words. "Not." Kiss. "Your." Kiss. "Fault." Kiss.</p><p>He couldn't handle it anymore, all the kissing, how it felt like he was being teased. He heard her, he did, and he understood her, but now he just really wanted her to kiss him again, again like before, like she damn well meant it.</p><p>So, he did the initiating and she fell into step with him, and they did that for awhile, and it was comfortable, intimate, a little bit rough, but she stopped him when he went to lift her shirt above her head. He knew what this was. She liked to be in control. He respected it.</p><p>He let her undress him first, less then careful, and then he was the same with her, and for a minute they stood there, almost but not quite naked in front of each other.<br/>And he just breathed, took in the view, raked his eyes over her body, all olive skin and steel wall, covered still only by two pieces of black, satin fabric.</p><p>Her cheeks were bruising with exertion, her hair mused, the soft waves having been teased into something else, something messier, by his own fingers, and it was blonder, too. Hot. Sexy. He liked the change, it suited her.</p><p>It was out before he could stop it. Those words, the ones he's felt but dared not say, not since before, before everything else.</p><p>"I love you."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>She didn't say it like she was surprised, or thrown off, it was almost like she'd said it instead like a curtesy, giving him time to, what, change his mind? Fat chance of that. So, he said it again.</p><p>"I love you. I'm in love with you. And I was going to tell you that, before. Not just that I don't have any regrets. Standing there, on that ledge, you below me…"</p><p>He could see it, could see it in the reflection of her eyes, his own, only a little darker than hers, going glassy, his pupils slightly dilating, and he knew that she could see it too, see him going back there in his head, because her hands reached out to touch his face, to hold it still.</p><p>"I was going to tell you that no matter what happens to us in here, to me, I will always love you. But I didn't. And I'm here, I'm alive, here, tonight, so I'm going to tell you now. I love you, Andy."</p><p>He hoped the words carried weight, hoped that the depth of them came through to her -</p><p>"What?"</p><p>- to her stubborn, little, ass. If he expected any less of a fight, he would have to say he didn't truly know her. The thing here was, he didn't. It made him smile.</p><p>"No matter how many times you question me, Andy, it doesn't change. And I'm sorry if that messes things up for you or whatever. Okay? I love you."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>He could have been upset. He'd just told her he loves her and all she can say for herself is okay? But he's not because he knows her. He knows her, knows that she's just processing, needs time.</p><p>The whole thing was feeling oddly familiar - he flashed back to the engagement ring, still nestled in the pocket of his backup turnouts, he not having the heart to do anything with it. Not yet.</p><p>He shook the feeling off as quickly as it came, looked her in the eyes, watched them soften, turn a milky hazel, watched water pool gently at the edges, watched the tears fall as her gaze melted completely with the weight of his own; and he didn't do anything, not for a second, certain she would wipe away the tears herself and forget they even happened, but a second passed, then two, then three, and she just let them fall.</p><p>He didn't know what to say. She'd only been this vulnerable with him a handful of times, and he'd been stricken into speechlessness, motionless by the shock of it, of her completely unspooling in front of him like that.</p><p>Unspooling. There was no other word for it because that's exactly what she was doing.</p><p>Her body was collapsing in on itself, slowly at first, gaining momentum with each gasp of air as her tears turned into crying, then sobbing, and before she could fall to the floor in a heap, ruin like a worn, knit sweater, he caught her in his arms and just held her.</p><p>He held her until the noise petered out and the tears slowed, until she was quiet again, and calm.</p><p>When she looked at him now, her skin was tight from crying, her breaths were still shallow, and her eyes were bright, almost brighter than the fucking sun, but it wasn't necessarily a happy metaphor, because the sun burned. It burned like hell.</p><p>"You can't die. You can't die on me, Jack Gibson. You just...you just can't."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Now it was his turn. He wasn't being aloof though, no, he was just confused. He watched her chest rise and fall, deep, heavy, as she took a minute to gather the courage.</p><p>He remembered rubbing her back as best he could from his hospital bed as she sat on its edge, head in her hands because she'd refused to look at him; pretending, just seconds later, not to be deeply hurt when she'd told him to screw off, her voice rough and throaty. Sad. Angry. She had a right to be, to feel those things about him, but he didn't, at least, not at her.</p><p>"Not like Travis's husband. You can't run into a fire and never come out because I don't think I'll be able to handle it. The skyscraper, tonight, it was so rough on me. Selfishly, Jack, it was. I thought I'd lost you forever."</p><p>This time when he rubbed her back, she let him, enveloping herself deep into his arms, finding solace in his hug and taking from him what she needed; kissing him soft and slow, as slow as she ever has. Forever. Maybe she did think about it. Sometimes.</p><p>Surprising him, she stopped suddenly and took his hand, slipped it inside her panties and he gasped at the sensation, at the feeling of her radiating heat, a moist, delicious, heat, her skin slick, the muscles of her thighs flitting, and then pulsing with desire, longing for him to touch her, her body drowning thickly in need.</p><p>"Andy..."</p><p>He trailed off, licking his lips to bring moisture back into them. A futile attempt, really, he knew that only made things worse.</p><p>"This isn't...it won't be like the other times."</p><p>She moved closer to him and the force of it almost made his fingers dip inside of her; instead, they just barely teased her slit but it was enough to rouse a reaction out of her, voluntarily or not.</p><p>She closed her eyes and moaned, and he couldn't damn we'll help it, he needed to do whatever he could, as soon as he could, to hear that gorgeous, salacious sound drip from her lips again. So he pulled her panties clean off, pushed them down her thighs, over her knees, over those sweet, sweet, and downright feminine, calf muscles, and finally after what seemed like forever, he got to her ankles and she kicked them off with her feet.</p><p>Completely bare to him now, he'd nearly forgotten how amazing this could be if he truly appreciated it. Now they were in bed together, she flat on her back, he on his side; her eyes closed, his wide open, just watching her. It was all he could do. Just watch her, watch her as he does things to her, and makes her unspool in a completely different sense.</p><p>He stopped just before things got too far. He really needed her to know. He removed his hand from inside of her, drawing it out slow, but not slow enough to cause a whole new slew of physical reactions, and she whimpered at the loss of his touch.</p><p>"Why did you stop?" she breathed out, her warm, hot breath against his face. "I was so close."</p><p>He nearly combusted then and there hearing those words, what he wouldn't have done to make her come, to make her say his name coupled with a rush of sexual feeling, but it wasn't going to be just for fun. It wouldn't be, not anymore, not in good conscience.</p><p>It would be because he loves her, because he wants her to love him, too, but sex, it wouldn't be enough on it's own. They'd already tried that. They failed. He couldn't have them try, try, and fail again. It might kill him.</p><p>"It won't be the same."</p><p>Andy smiled fondly at him, took the hand that was inside of her in her own, intertwined their fingers. He could see the sheen of her still on his fingers, and now it was on hers. Holy shit. This is ten times more erotic than the image of her lips. One hundred, but he knew that's not what mattered. It was her smile. It was saying something to him. Something like I love you, too.</p><p>"I know. So put that ring on my finger. Call me your fiancée. And fuck me...like I'm your fiancée."</p><p>"Andy..."</p><p>He'd been saying her name like that quite often in the last hour. Uncertain, hopeful, two emotions that when put together, could only result in pain.</p><p>"Jack..."</p><p>Now she was saying his name the same way. If she was ready to feel the pain then - then that meant she was serious. It meant that this was no longer a no, or a maybe. It was a yes.</p><p>Yes, she thought about him. Yes, she thought about being in a public relationship with him. Yes, she thought about creating a home with him; yes, because wherever home was, like it was for him, for her, too, it wasn't a specific place; it was with a specific person.</p><p>She took his face in her hands, each palm on one cheek, pushing him to make eye contact with her.</p><p>"Fuck me, please, just…do it."</p><p>She wasn't flinching anymore. The word didn't seem to bother her, now. But it bothered him. For reasons that he could explain, but would prefer not to, if he could help it, because unlike on her, vulnerability was not a flattering color on him.</p><p>"I can't."</p><p>At least, he didn't think so. Maybe someone out there thinks differently. Maybe she does.</p><p>"You can. But if you can't do that then..."</p><p>She chuckled, shook her head, and he was momentarily thrown until she said what she was going to say. He understood why she was laughing, then. That turn of phrase, it wasn't her, but she was trying. She was trying and it meant the world to him.</p><p>"Make love to me. Have sex with me...like I'm your wife."</p><p>"But you're not...you said no." He was getting upset, now, unresolved feelings about all of that pouring out. "You said no, Andy."</p><p>"Ask me again."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I said ask me again."</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Because life is too short to not be saying yes to things. Things that make you happy. Things that you should have said yes to in the first place."</p><p>She was playing the death card. What's worse is that it was working, although Jack was pretty sure anything Andy said or did would work for him. Quite literally anything.</p><p>He thought back to the time he went to the store just to get her a jar of peanut butter for one apple, because there wasn't enough to spread evenly on each slice, just because she gave him the look.</p><p>The look that could get him to swim with sharks if she'd asked. The look she was giving him now.</p><p>"Because I love you, Jack. I love you. I love you so much I physically ache every time I think about something happening to you now. Is that not enough?"</p><p>Andy has little tells when she lies. And over the years, he's gotten to know a few of them, then all of them, as they started to get more intimate. He has favorites. The nose twitch. Like a little bunny. He sometimes calls her Pinocchio, which is stupid, because Pinocchio's nose gets longer, but it was something with her nose, so to him, it was close enough, and it made her laugh. A win.</p><p>Right now, her nose wasn't twitching. She wasn't biting her lip or intending her palm with the crescent moon of her fingernail. She wasn't crossing her fingers behind her back. (That one, she never did do, it just seems like the kind of thing people do in movies, so he thought to throw it in there).</p><p>She wasn't lying. Not about this. Not about loving him. About loving him so much that it makes her heart ache. And that was enough. It was enough for him, it was.</p><p>He finally knows how she feels about him, really, honestly, and he's never felt better.<br/>It just took her a little bit more time. Some denial. Some projection. Acceptance. And then some more time, but she was finally there. She was finally home.</p><p>He wished he'd waited her out instead of becoming the man with questionable morals - i.e. sleeping with and feeling some sort of things for her best friend, but there was no space in this lifetime for regret.</p><p>They were here now, and that was all that mattered.</p><hr/><p>He took her back into the turnout room – back to where it all started. In this room, he could still feel the ghost of her mouth on his, sexy, passionate, in secret, the ghost of their bodies pressed up against one another, her back to the metal, his being felt up by her hands, her greedy, greedy, hands.</p><p>They're memories he once liked, then hated, but he'd always loved them, it's just that they'd managed to fade into the background a little, after they'd broken up, called it quits, whatever. Now though, with her leaning heavily into her backup turnouts, comfortable, smiling, waiting, just waiting for him to do something – probably, and preferably, to start kissing her, those memories were at the forefront again, flashing in his brain like the beginnings of a hot, hot, flame.</p><p>He kissed her once; long, burning, vicious, biting her bottom lip a little, and she practically mewled in reaction. Mewled. Like an untamed, gorgeous, animal. He felt his body shake. And then he felt hers; and then he couldn't help it – he lifted her up into his arms, needing her as close to him as physically as possible, and she complied readily, wrapping her legs around his torso.</p><p>He could actually feel her calf muscles tightening, her core spasming a little at the touch of his hands as he went upwards along her body.</p><p>She didn't need him to support her, he could have his hands wherever he wanted them, but he lusted after the feeling of his hands on her ass, holding, squeezing, and so they were there, and her body loosened as she sunk into his kiss, becoming weightless, untethered, but somehow, she was every bit there against him, he could feel every part of her, every limb, every nerve, through her clothes.</p><p>The thought of what she feels like naked, how he knows she feels, made him nearly groan. He missed that feeling. He fucking missed it like nothing else in the world, right now. His hands were on the move again and they stopped in her hair, his fingers pulling, pulling, pulling at her scalp.</p><p>God, he loved her hair. Down like this, splaying across her shoulders, fists of it in his hands, the way she so often runs her fingers through it when she's expelling those pent-up emotions after some pretty grisly calls, the way she used to come to him, ready, ready for him to kiss her, to kiss away every bit of sadness and upset and the great injustices of the world, where people die too early, too young, for no good reason, they see it all the time, and what's worse is that it's all part of the job.</p><p>The job they wanted, and they can't help what is to be done, in the way the angels want it, or God, or whoever, they can't save every loss. They just can't, and somehow, someway, they need to find a way to get over that, and for her, for him, for them together, that something is sex. Amazing, explosive, sex that blows every and all other feelings out of the water. What it's meant to do, sometimes.</p><p>Not right now, though. Right now, he wanted to feel this to feel it, not for it to blot out other things. He just wanted this. Her. Him. Together. Right now, this wasn't an occupational hazard, an occupational anything, they weren't firefighters right now, despite the way her bare back is pressed against his old turnout gear.</p><p>His old – and before he has a chance to say anything, she's felt it, felt the box in one of the pockets, and she's reaching behind her, and then the box is in her hands, the ring nestled inside it, and she's staring at it, and even though it's not in shock, and he knows this is what she wants, now, what they want, he's still struggling to breathe.</p><p>"We're not doing it this way…again," he told her, softly, gently, prying the ring box from her hands. "I don't want history to repeat itself."</p><p>He's mildly joking, but by the look on her face, she didn't see it that way, he watched it begin to crumble, but he reached out and held it together with his palms, breathed out.</p><p>He just stared at her, he looked at every, single, piece of her and watched them beautifully come together, he saw her for who she was, whether that was when she was sad, happy, angry, grieving, exhilarated, lustful, lost, or home; and right now, in this solitary, definitive, moment, looking into his eyes, searching them for the smallest hint of doubt or regret, that she wouldn't find, not now, not ever, he could see her; he could see that she felt as though she was home. Not in this station, but home; she found it in his eyes, in his chest, in his arms, his shoulders, his neck, she found her home in him.</p><p>They went back to kissing, Andy tossing the ring box to the floor with a clatter, her hands wrapping themselves around his neck, her fingers warm, pulling at the tufts of his hair, her tongue pushing against his lips, forcing entry, and instantly there was familiarity there, comfort and they were one in the same person, lips, tongues, hands; Jack didn't know where he himself stopped and she began, as stupidly fucking cliché as that probably sounds, but if any feeling were just like that in the world, really like that, it was this one, right here.</p><p>"I don't ever want to stop kissing you. I really, really, don't."</p><p>He wanted to smile at her, but he knew it looked to her probably more like a smirk. Flirty. He couldn't help it. The tone of her words were serious, something else, but the words themselves were so reminiscent of the way they used to talk to each other, light, sexy, stupid, fun, like concupiscent hookups.</p><p>"Then don't. Easy answer."</p><p>He leaned in to kiss her again, but just as his lips were mere inches from hers, she stopped him. Hand to his chest, soft, but well-meaning, she stopped him.</p><p>"No. No…"</p><p>She bit her bottom lip as if she were trying to fight whatever expression was about to be made known on her face, whatever urges she was trying to dampen down, their nature sexual, primal. He'd seen this before, many times, when they were sneaking around, in their own little private, hot, sexy, bubble. He's grown to hate that word. Bubble. The look though, the lip bite, he very much did not hate that. Not at all.</p><p>"Andy…"</p><p>He trailed off, his voice husky, riddled with desire, his tongue heavy in his mouth, velvety and smooth with the promise of meeting hers in a smoking gun of a kiss, the promise of sex.</p><p>"No. No, ugh."</p><p>She stomped her foot like a child, took two steps back from him and put her arms out in front of her. It was comical how hard she's trying to get away from him when not a minute ago she wanted to do anything but. Everything but.</p><p>"Can you stop being so attractive for two seconds please?"</p><p>He raised his eyebrows. He was not expecting that. Smiled. Smirked. It might as well be the same thing where they were concerned, sometimes.</p><p>"Can you?"</p><p>"Fair question," she rebutted, a confident little smile replacing whatever inner turmoil that was manifesting itself physically.</p><p>It made him smile too. Smile for real. But as hers disappeared, as quickly as it came, so did his.</p><p>"I can still hear the sound of your PASS device going off…it's like a sort of ringing in my ears that I can't get away from."</p><p>She frowned. He remembered her face being the first thing he'd seen upon regaining consciousness. Her face, streaked with tears and creased in agony, soot and smog smearing her skin, but as always, she was still so, stunningly, beautiful.</p><p>He was just so glad it was her that he was seeing and not whoever it was that was the welcomer at death's door. He was just so glad for that, he couldn't put it into words, not for a good minute, but then it came back to him, his last real thought that he had control over. I told her I don't want to live without her and now I don't have to. Just like that. I don't have to.</p><p>He couldn't tell her, not if she'd decided she wasn't going to have him. It would be too much guilt; but now, now that they were here, in this position, he still didn't want to tell her. It was too much. Too heavy.</p><p>He didn't want her to bare all of that. He didn't want her to hold onto anything, but he couldn't help who she was. How she felt like she held the weight of the world, her world, this station, on her shoulders. He hated that, but he couldn't stop it; what he could stop, was this.</p><p>"I – "</p><p>He started, but she cut him off with a finger to his lips.</p><p>"That sound…that sound Jack, that horrible, echo, that hollow, dead, sound…it made me realize that I don't want to live without you, either. That I can't. Not that…not that I just don't want to. It feels like – this feels like more than that."</p><p>He took her face in his hands, gentle, delicate, the pads of his fingers wispy along her cheeks, just barely touching her skin. "This – "</p><p>He gestured meaningfully between them, "feels like more than that? Really? Because before when we were breaking up, you told me that it didn't, that you didn't feel…that. For me."</p><p>"I didn't say that Jack, I didn't." She was getting defensive, he could hear it in her voice, the frustration clear.</p><p>"I said I didn't want to get married, that my home was the station that I might never want to settle down…but then my dad got sick and – and you almost died. A few more minutes and you would have been dead. Life is more than this job. I realize that now. I hate what it took for me to understand that, but we're here now."</p><p>She grabbed his hands in hers, her thumbs ghosting over his knuckles. It was intimate.</p><p>"We're here. Together. And I love you. I love you and I'm not interested in living without you. I want to live this life with you. Really live it."</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. "Live it. As in – "</p><p>"The whole nine yards, babe."</p><p>She grinned at him. It was not often that Andy Herrera grinned at anybody. He suddenly felt very special. "I want it all. With you. You remember when you said you picture your future home? I don't need to visualize it. Because I look at it every single day."</p><p>"Are you saying – "</p><p>"You are my home, Jack Gibson. Wherever you are is wherever I want to be." She scrunched up her nose. "Oh, no. No, that was gross. Rewind. Bleh."</p><p>He squeezed her hands. "No. It wasn't gross. I've been waiting to hear you say that." He leaned in to her again, kissed her lips gingerly, catching her bottom lip in between his teeth.</p><p>"God," he breathed as he let it go free, as he reached up his hand to touch her lip's swollen flesh. Sexy. There was only one word for it, and that was it. "I'm so glad we found this again."</p><p>Andy smiled. She's heard those words before, coming from her own mouth. They weren't new, but they did take on another meaning now. "Me too."</p><p>Jack bent down to retrieve the ring box from off the floor and immediately got onto his knee. He was done waiting. He'd waited for her long enough. She was finally ready. Ready to love him, to be with him, to create a life with him, and he wouldn't waste another moment, another living, breathing moment, because who knew how many a person gets in this life, where she wasn't something more to him. Where she wasn't his fiancée. His wife.</p><p>"Andrea Herrera."</p><p>Surprising him, she threw back her head and laughed; it was a sweet, sweet, wonderful sound, one that made him overwhelmed with this good feeling, so much that he wanted to laugh, too, but he held his tongue.</p><p>This wasn't the time; or maybe, it was, because nothing about the two of them was done on time, but he decided to wait her out because if he starts to laugh, to release that good feeling she gives him into the universe, he might never stop.</p><p>"Only my dad calls me Andrea. Start again."</p><p>Funny, he knew for a fact that Ryan has also been known to call her Andrea, but he knew better than to mention it.</p><p>"That's your name, though."</p><p>"No, it's – not to you. I've always been Andy to you. To the rest of 19. It would be like me calling you Jackson."</p><p>He chuckled. "But my name's not Jackson. Legally, it's Jack. Just Jack."</p><p>She smiled. "And I'm just Andy. Andrea…it's not me…it's not us. To me, you're Jack, and to you, I'm Andy. We're Jack and Andy. Always."</p><p>He smiled back at her. He loved the sound of that. "We're Jack and Andy. Always."</p><p>"Now start again." Bossy, even when she's being proposed to. Figures.</p><p>So, he did.</p><p>"Make a life with me. Be my home. Be my light in the darkness. My fire in all the smoke. Be there with me. Always. Andy Herrera, will you marry me?"</p><p>"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will marry you."</p><p>She kissed him long and deep; it was the first kiss that marked the beginning of the life they were going to build together, and, as far as kisses go, it didn't disappoint because it was one hell of a kiss.</p><p>She was kissing him like she meant it.</p><hr/><p>Jack wanted to tell the whole team, together, at once, and it was sweet of him to think that way, rah-rah team mentality and all that, but she had someone she wanted to tell first.</p><p>To avoid anybody feeling left out, because try as she might, she fed into the high-school bullshit and if she were to run this place one day, she knew that sort of thing was high on the list of keeping order. A team where nobody feels sidelined is a happy one, and a happy team is by and large a cohesive team. It's how the world works.</p><p>Except for that day. Because that day was crazy. Insane, and there was probably a better word for what that day was, but she was too tired to think of one, yet she was so high on emotions that she couldn't even dream of sleeping.</p><p>Andy found her in the Beanery, sipping on a cup of coffee in her sweats and a Seattle Fire t-shirt, not unlike her own outfit currently.</p><p>She looked tired. Bedraggled, more like it, and if she weren't about to burst at the seams with another, completely opposite feeling, she would probably be the same way, but still, now, she empathized with her. They'd all been through so much. Not Travis and not Jack least of all.</p><p>"Hey," Maya said upon noticing her come in. "How are you holding up?"</p><p>She stirred her coffee and the clinking of the spoon against the mug took the place of any silence.</p><p>"Montgomery's stable. They've moved him out of the ICU today. Vic's still there. She coerced Warren's wife into allowing her to stay."</p><p>"Good," Andy said, watching Maya carefully as she put the spoon into the sink and took another sip.</p><p>Over the brim, her friend gave her a look. She did that thing where her eyes just lock on the person she's talking to, the power of her stare just pulling, pulling, pulling, until they're forced to talk or crumble with the weight.</p><p>"it's Jack."</p><p>At Maya's alarm, her eyes widening, her hand reaching out to grasp her arm, she knew then that that may not have been the best way to start, in light of everything that's happened tonight.</p><p>"Oh my god, is he okay? Is he showing concussion symptoms? Did you keep him awake and talking? Did – "</p><p>Suddenly, Maya stopped her barrage of questions, abruptly and with a startling gasp. She nearly jumped. In her own defense, she was on extremely high alert, has been since she went into that skyscraper looking for Jack. That feeling hasn't fully gone away, not yet, there just hadn't been anything to draw attention back to it. Until now.</p><p>"What?" Andy asked her, confused. "What happened?"</p><p>Maya pulled back from her, gave her a look. A different look. This one said spill. Spill now.</p><p>"I should be asking you that. What happened with Jack? Something good?"</p><p>This conversation felt much like one they've had before, in what seemed like another, totally separate lifetime, but she shook it off and kept moving through it.</p><p>Andy held up her left hand for Maya to see and moved it back and forth, her fingers splayed. This time, a ring glistened proudly on that finger, the intricacies caught by the dimmed fluorescents, almost like lamplight, of the kitchen.</p><p>"No. He proposed!?" Maya put a hand to her mouth in shock. "I thought I saw a ring, but then I thought I must be seeing things because I'm nearing a can't-stand-on-my-own-two-feet level of exhausted, but this is real."</p><p>"This is real." She nodded.</p><p>"I don't know if you've noticed, but Jack's been sleeping in my bunk every night since the skyscraper. Since he came home from the hospital. And there's been – we haven't had sex yet, and tonight was our first kiss since – well, since the breakup, but, god, I love him, Maya. I love him so much and I hate that the skyscraper – almost losing him – was what made me realize – "</p><p>"That you can't live without him," Maya interjected plainly, but there was a faint smile on her face, a worn-out, resigned, or maybe that was acceptance she was seeing, but whatever it was, was there.</p><p>"When he proposed the first time, and you weren't happy – you were not not happy, Andy. You just, you weren't ready yet. And you took 'I'm not ready now' immediately for 'I'm not ready ever' and maybe that had something to do with your parents, and maybe it didn't, but something was stopping you that's clearly not in the way now. You had those feelings before you almost lost him. You did, An. You just buried them in work. An M.O. for you if there ever was one."</p><p>An. Maya hadn't called her that in, geez, she couldn't even remember how long. The way she was calling her that now gave her this warmth in her stomach, some sort of reassurance that she was doing something right, and it took her a minute, but she was remembering now, one of the last times. </p><hr/><p>
  <em>It had been a long day, one of the longest, and it was this day that marked their first official shifts at 19. The guys were cocky, stupid, patronizing, and the only other woman there – Vic – she was elusive and aloof all at once, and her attitude was off-putting. The only person she seemed to gravitate towards was Montgomery, first name Travis, and honestly, she didn't need the drama. She just wanted to fight fires.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She fell into step with Maya as she headed towards the Beanery, but before they could get there, Maya had pulled her into a little alcove of a hallway, finger to her lips.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What? What is it? I just want to eat something stupid simple, like a PB and J and fall into bed. You're ruining that dream for me right now."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maya just chuckled. Andy smiled in response. The lightness was comforting. For a minute. And then her face became eerily somber.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Look, what we saw out there today…the academy didn't prepare us for that. Are you okay? Because – because I don't know if – if I am."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Andy noticed then that Maya's face was dead white, her skin thin, papery. She looked a million years old. She'd grabbed forcefully onto her hand in an attempt to ground her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"It's okay not to be okay. It was a rough one. Even my dad – he wasn't ready for it either. But I like to think of it as maybe – at least for today – we've seen the worst. It's a day-by-day thing. You can't take stock in all of the bad things because that will get you out of this job so fast your head will spin, okay? It's not healthy, but it will also affect your ability to do the job you were so clearly meant to do. Take stock of the good instead."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Take stock of the good," Maya repeated flatly. "Like…we saved that little boy. But not his twin sister."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Mm – "</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Andy interrupted. "We saved that little boy. We saved a life. Say that again."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"We saved a life." Maya said dutifully. And again. "We saved a life." There was a little bit more conviction that time. "We saved a life, today."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"We saved a life today," Andy said along with her, squeezing her hands, tight. "Okay? Take stock in the good."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Take stock in the good," Maya was saying almost to herself, hushed, reverent. Then she looked back up at her. "Thank you. I'm so glad I have you here with me."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And vice-versa," Andy told her, accepting of her hug.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They were few and far between, for the both of them, but right now, her best friend, yeah, she was suddenly realizing, that's what Maya was, her best friend; she needed that hug.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I love you, An," Maya's voice was timid, maybe a little doubtful. She didn't talk about her feelings often or easily; it was something the two of them had in common. "I couldn't do this without you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Same goes for you," Andy responded with a smile as she linked her arm through hers and led her into the Beanery.</em>
</p><hr/><p>"So you're happy for me – for us?" Andy asked her now as she fiddled with the ring, turning it round and round on her finger.</p><p>"Happy!? Andy Herrera, of course I am. As your best friend, I'm ecstatic. You deserve to be happy, and if Jack's the guy to do that then that's great."</p><p>"He is," Andy smiled reverently down at her hand. "He's the guy."</p><hr/><p>The rest of the team found out weeks later, once Travis came back, and to the chagrin of this new captain. Sullivan. It seemed, to him, that personal and work lives don't mix, and she used to be that way too, she was, for a long time, but she realized now, that with these guys, with 19, mixing was possible, and encouraged.</p><p>The reactions were unique to each individual person, but also as a team as a whole, and she reveled in the way that this team, their team, could do that so seamlessly. They really were a family.</p><p>Maya, for her part, acted very much surprised, though she was sure these guys knew that she already knew, and accepted it.</p><p>Vic asked too many questions, all of which she begrudgingly answered in front of her father; Travis held a steadying hand on an overly inquisitive (and excited) Vic's shoulder and gave a soft nod of acknowledgement, his eyes sparkling with what she knew to be fond memories of the late Michael, and what this time had been like for them.</p><p>Dean gave the both of them sturdy, dependable bear hugs, and she immediately knew where he stood - Jack was his best friend, and it was high time that Dean got to see him as happy as he was (as happy as she hoped he was).</p><p>Ben gave them both a hug that was still tentative, but the sentiment was there, Ben Warren was one to always shine light on the sentiments of it all – his first time driving the aid car, his first brush with death, his first rescue, and now, her and Jack's engagement. He was fixated on all of the firsts, the adrenaline, the comradery that came with life here, not only as a firefighter, but as a part of station 19.</p><p>Andy was proud of that too; she loved these guys, every one of them, they were her family and there was something to be said about the family you create for yourself in the life you live. They make you better. That's what they did; these guys, they made her better, and she was proud to know them, and to love them as much as she does.</p><p>Her father pulled her aside after all of the celebration died down. He'd been quiet, and she hoped it wasn't because he was upset. She wouldn't be able to bare it if he weren't happy with her decision to be with Jack, to take that next step with him.</p><p>"Andrea I – "</p><p>"Dad, please, if you're upset with me or think I made the wrong choice, just give me two minutes. Two more minutes in my bubble, okay?"</p><p>Her dad crossed his arms across his chest, then uncrossed them, but then he smiled.</p><p>"Mija, I'm happy for you. I know that you and Gibson were involved at one point, and maybe you weren't serious then, but that was only you thinking that you weren't. I know you, Andrea. Whether you like it or not."</p><p>"What do you mean?" Her tone came off as slightly combative and she worked in reeling it in. "Do you think this was the right choice?"</p><p>He raised his brow. "Do you?"</p><p>It was a simple question, one that had a simple answer. "Yes."</p><p>"Then there you have it. Mija, your whole life, I've just wanted you to be happy, and I've done everything I can for you to make sure of that – when you were growing up. But now, now you're grown, and you're in charge of your own happiness and if Gibson – with his floppy hair and his boyish stubble – "</p><p>He laughed when she lightly hit his arm, "if he makes you happy, then that's all there is to it. Growing with somebody, sharing those life moments with someone, that's a special thing, Andrea."</p><p>"I know," she murmured softly, pulling him in for a hug. "I know that."</p><p>Over her dad's shoulder, she could see the entire team still gathered in the Beanery, laughing, joking, touching, enjoying each other's company for what it was; but then that image faded out, and all she could see was a piece of it.</p><p>All she could see was Jack. He was laughing at something someone said, his mouth agape, his cheeks alight, a smile on his lips, and in this moment he was all of it. All she could see. All she wanted to see. He was everything, to her.</p><p>He was her one place that she knew best. He was her home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Lost on You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author's Note: Hi-ya! Here I am with another Jack/Andy fic - I was on a bit of a role with these two, so I just went with it. The next fic will be a different ship, so if these two aren't your favorite, don't worry (and please come back, maybe you'll be surprised).</p><p>I wanted to write about the two of them first meeting - we saw a glimpse of it in the flashbacks during that one episode of fetus Maya being harassed by fetus Gibson when they first started at the station but the focus was on Maya, not Andy, at the time, so all we got from Andy was an "ew." But we all know her opinion wasn't really 'ew' was it? It's also been touched on how Maya was the one who knew about their secret sex, implying that she'd either been told, or had found out. I was too curious to pass it up.</p><p>This one's called "Lost on You."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Lately I'm getting lost on you</em>
  <br/>
  <em>You got me doing things I never thought I'd do</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Never spent so long on a losing battle...everyday I'm a slave to the heartache but I don't wanna leave you lonely.</em>
</p><hr/><p>When he first met Andy Herrera, Jack thought that she was just as beautiful as she was badass, and it was a combination that he didn't encounter often, in general, or in his line of work.</p><p>The fire academy – his fellow recruits – were all men but it hadn't mattered, and it still didn't, because Jack Gibson was not a relationship guy, he was not a long-term anything, and he would pride himself on that. He hadn't seen anything healthy to model growing up, that's where having no parents, no family to speak of, gets you – you have <em>less</em> <em>than</em> low standards. You literally have none.</p><p>Once he made the, quite frankly, obvious connection that Andy was Herrera's kid, it made her appeal all the more irresistible. It was like sleeping with the preacher's daughter. Now, if he had a bucket list of things to do before he died, rest assured she would be on it. Multiple times.</p><p>Right in this moment, she was giving him a lovely view of her backside as she bent down to pull up her turnout suspenders, and he indulged for quite some time before Bishop – the Olympic gold-medalist with a solid gold stick up her ass – caught on to him. She right away alerted Andy with a discreet nudge, much to his dismay.</p><p>The nudge didn't work, she was oblivious, maybe a little naïve, and he liked that about her, how it was probably just an act so the men here can underestimate her and instantly feel like a stereotyping asshole when they do.</p><p>"Andy," Maya whispered to her, and then she said a few more things that Jack didn't catch, probably something to the effect of <em>this shithead is staring at you</em> and he made the mistake of not averting his gaze quickly enough. Seriously, her ass was like the fucking Grand Canyon.</p><p>"Excuse me," she looked at the lapel of his uniform, raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, as if she couldn't give a rat's ass about what his name was.</p><p>"Were you just checking me out, Gibson? Hm? Do you like what you see? I'm going to take a wild guess and say that the ass prospects weren't so good at the academy? You thought you'd get your fill here, at 19? Sorry, buddy. Not here. Not from me."</p><p>Maya raised her hands, though not in surrender, it just seemed like honesty. Though the look she was giving him wasn't so nice, and it certainly didn't leave room for honesty where he was concerned.</p><p>"And I don't swing that way. Not all the time anyways, but I definitely won't be taking a swing at you, so you don't have to worry about it, okay?"</p><p>Jack nearly guffawed. Was he supposed to respond to that? Were these women serious? So, he laughed. Maya rolled her eyes, which, as he would soon learn, was the norm for her, with him, and Andy copied her. The interesting thing though, when Maya turned her back, no longer entertained by who's-checking-out-who, he caught her staring. At him.</p><p><em>Like what you see</em> he mouthed at her, not wanting the attention of Bishop back on him, and this time she shook her head. <em>Not a chance</em> she mouthed back, but he wasn't stupid – he may not be the sharpest tool in the box, but he was smart where it counted, and to him, the look in her eyes said that he just might have a chance after all.</p><hr/><p>A couple months later, after looks turned into lingering looks, which turned into winks – god damn <em>winks</em>, which then turned into hanging behind after everybody else had left the turnout room but him, on one of those days, it finally happened.</p><p>He was standing in the middle of the turnout room, all too slowly putting his gear back into his locker. He wouldn't lie, not if anybody asked. He was waiting. Not for her, no, he was waiting because he just had this feeling that they were going to get called out again. It's in his gut. The feeling. Nowhere else.<em> Nowhere…. else.</em></p><p>She'd looked so – <em>so hot</em> today, putting out that fire, clutching that hose like she fucking owned it. <em>That was one damn lucky hose.</em> He shut his eyes tight and breathed out deep, willing the feeling to go away. Right now. It didn't.</p><p>Instead, she appeared, announcing her presence with the loud slam of the door, one that he hoped and prayed that nobody heard. He didn't even have to turn around. He knew. He didn't even have to look at her. But he wanted to; oh, he wanted to, <em>he wanted to so bad.</em> And not just look at her. He was <em>so fucking done with looking at he</em>r.</p><p>He watched her hand grip her ponytail, watched her fingers run through the locks of hair, letting each piece go from her grasp incrementally. It honestly felt like she was teasing him, somehow, with her stupid hair, and her stupid hand, and the way she held it, like that, the shape of her mouth as she fixed him with that look. <em>God, he was so sick of that look.</em></p><p>"What? What do you want, Herrera?" It came off colder than he'd intended.</p><p>"Oh." She crossed her arms. "So this is how we're gonna play it, huh?"</p><p>"Yeah," he responded, his eyes narrowing. He watched as hers did the same. "This is how we're gonna play it. Whatever this is."</p><p>For a second, her eyes softened, but only for a second; they were a pretty color, brown, but light, closer to hazel than a normal brown, but not quite that. They were unique. Spunky. Full of life. They were steely again. As long as it took for him to have that stupid thought about her stupid eyes. Those stupid, cute, eyes</p><p>"Are you going to kiss me anytime soon or what?"</p><p>That's it. It was out there now. Gone were the looks. Now it was about the words.</p><p>"You know what? I think I just might."</p><p>He took giant strides towards her and when he was close enough, he reached out and touched her, pulled her in close. And the actions.</p><p>In seconds, their lips were touching, their mouths pressed together, melding together, with no sign of hesitancy. There was so much buildup, so much passion, so much implicitness, that when it finally happened, neither of them were into messing around. Neither of them wanted careful. That was boring. Neither of them did boring.</p><p>"Oh my god," she gasped as he pushed her against his locker, able to catch a breath as he worked generously on her neck. <em>"Oh my god,"</em> she said again, her pulse moving erratically underneath his lips as she grabbed roughly at the tufts of his hair.</p><p>He groaned, it was gravely, indulgent as he moved to her mouth again and they made-out for a little while, both of them flush with physical attraction and blatant want. A yearning so psychologically damning that even Freud wouldn't touch it, that made him tear at her uniform, her hair, her skin, like a feral animal but she was definitely not complaining. In fact, she came back at him just as violently, and it, quite honestly, surprised him, his blood rushing, his heart pumping in loud, spastic, bursts.</p><p>He was kissing up her collarbone, his lips making a warm, wet, trail along her perspiring skin. "I'm about to sleep with the preacher's daughter," he whispered salaciously, biting her earlobe.</p><p>"Gross," she grumbled at him, her mouth sloppily against his so that when she puckered her lips in a kiss, it was more like she kissed his chin. "You're so lucky you're hot."</p><p>"Yeah? Well, so are you," he countered.</p><p>Though it wasn't really much of one because all he really did was pay her a compliment, but he wasn't thinking straight right now, thinking at all, actually, with all of the clothes coming off and flying every which way, but what he did know, he thought to himself, as naked body parts were so unceremoniously thrown into the mix, and for his viewing pleasure, is that she was <em>so fucking hot.</em></p><hr/><p>It happened again. And again. And again. It kept happening, for weeks,; for weeks they were sneaking around, sometimes so desperate that they would have sex in the stupidest of places, almost begging to get caught, but the adrenaline, it sparked something. Something like fire.</p><p>That's what got them in the Beanery around two in the morning, Andy carrying her shower towel and holding tightly onto his hand as he practically dragged her there. They weren't total cavepeople, he'd like to think, so they put her towel on the granite countertop of the breakfast bar, because leaving behind a bare ass print probably wasn't the smartest, or most sanitary thing.</p><p>He lifted her up onto the bar, placed her gently onto the towel and she used her legs to hike him closer to her, wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she removed his shirt. He wasn't sure if playing with the rule of physics was the best thing, but he decided to screw it, and he climbed up onto the counter with her, stifling her laughter with a heated kiss.</p><p>He ran his hands through her hair, pulling it free from that dumb ponytail she kept it in while she slept, and allowed his hands to continue their descent, down her chest, her stomach, her thighs, everything taut from all the stimulation.</p><p>"What the…fuck?" a voice echoed, sleepy and discombobulated, but to him, and to Andy, who nearly bumped her head with his as her body shot up in surprise, it was clear as day.</p><p>"What in the <em>absolute fucking hell</em> is this? Herrera? Gibson? Am I…seeing things? Dreaming? I better be because – because Pruitt is going to flip.</p><p>"Holy shit, Andy," Maya laughed, very likely still in shock. "Your dad is going to kill Jack. Not you,<em> no,</em> because you're his<em> precious Andrea</em>, but he is going to murder Gibson in his sleep, with his bare hands, when he finds out."</p><p>"Maya," Andy stuttered out, wrapping the towel around her naked top half as he got up from on top of her.</p><p>"Bishop," Jack tried in vain to reason with her as he adjusted the waist of his sweatpants, shuffling a little awkwardly. "This was my idea. My, admittedly very stupid, idea. I convinced Andy to come out here, she did nothing."</p><p>Maya shook her head. She looked pissed, but it wasn't clear at whom. "She didn't do nothing, Gibson. She's most definetly not blameless in this." She was staring at Andy now, her gaze hard. "Whatever <em>this</em> is."</p><p>"Maya…" Andy tried again.</p><p>She reached out to touch her shoulder, but as she did that, her towel slipped and she scowled, pulling her hand back to avoid exposing herself – exposing herself even further than she already has. Figuratively, and literally too, he cringed at what Maya had seen.</p><p>"Don't, Andy." Maya put her hand up to stop her from saying anymore. "Not right now. Please."</p><p>With that, she mumbled something about too much salt in the food – a direct attack at him, because he cooked tonight, and went to grab a glass from the cupboard, filling it with tap water. Taking a sip, she eyed them both suspiciously swallowing and licking her lips.</p><p>"You're not going to tell my dad, are you?" Andy asked her, her voice small, as small as he'd ever heard it. She was scared. Scared of what an angry, betrayed, Maya might do. The lengths she would go to.</p><p>Maya sighed. She looked angry, but more than that, she looked sad. As if trust had been broken. "No. No, Andy, I'm not. That's your decision. Yours and…Jack's. Jack? Gibson? Really, Andy? Really?"</p><p>"I – "</p><p>"You couldn't have picked a firefighter from a different station, or better yet, steered clear of firefighters completely? But no, you had to choose one of us. And Gibson!? Seriously? Miller, Montgomery – "</p><p>"Montgomery's gay," Jack interjected, even though he could sense that it was clearly not his place to say anything.</p><p>Maya rolled her eyes and Andy just sighed emphatically, laid a hand on his shoulder. Soft. Affirming. This wasn't going to end. Not yet. Not if he could help it.</p><p>"Exactly my point."</p><p>"Maya!"</p><p>"Geez, thanks for the ego boost, Bishop."</p><p>"No worries Gibson," Maya grinned at him, but it was fake. Of course it was.</p><p>"But seriously Andy – him!?"</p><p>"I'm right here you know!"</p><p>"Oh, I <em>know,</em>" Maya sneered, her attention again on her best friend. "And more importantly, how could you not tell me?" The hurt was transparent now, it was useless of her to try and hide it.</p><p>"I was afraid of how you would react," Andy took a breath. "I was afraid of this."</p><p>"Of this!?" Maya splayed out her hands, palms up, indignant. "What exactly is <em>this?</em> Would you care to shine some light on that for me?"</p><p>"I – "</p><p>Andy began but he interrupted her. He wouldn't let her handle the wrath of Maya alone. The woman could be malicious when she wanted to be.</p><p>"I love her, Maya.<em> I love her.</em> That's what this is. It's not just sex."</p><p>He looked at Andy beside him, and she was about three shades paler than her natural color. Shit, this was the first time he's said it out loud, wasn't it?</p><p>"You – you what?" She was staring at him now, a look so intimate, so striking, it was as though she was looking into his soul. "You what?"</p><p>"Yeah…" Maya took her last sip of water, put the glass on the kitchen island that stood between them and slowly backed up. She raised her hands.</p><p>"This is not something I should be apart of. Not this conversation."</p><p>She gave Andy a long look; the expression was forlorn, but still self-preservation was at the forefront. "We'll talk later, An. Good luck."</p><p>Jack cocked his head at her. "An?"</p><p>Andy wiped at a fallen tear on her cheek. "Yeah. She uh – she calls me that sometimes."</p><p>He used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the next couple tears that fell gingerly down her cheeks. "Can I call you that?"</p><p>"No," she said but it was short, maybe even a little nasty.</p><p>"Okay," he shrugged his shoulders, playing nonchalant. "<em>Sexy</em> it is."</p><p>He leaned in to place a kiss on her mouth, hoping that with the power of his lips that maybe she would just forget what he said before, all of that love stuff. It was clearly too soon. A month. He'd clearly spooked her.</p><p>"No, no," she struggled to speak against his mouth, and she pushed her hands hard against his chest. "We're not doing that. You can't use kissing or sex or anything else to distract me. You said something tonight."</p><p>She slipped her shirt back on as she waited for him to respond.</p><p>"Yeah, so? I said a lot of things tonight." He pushed her hair back behind her ears, whispered against her neck. "I did a lot of things too."</p><p>She shrugged out of his grasp, out of his immediate range. She didn't want him touching her, that was clear. She didn't want him near her, right now. "You said you love me."</p><p>"I did."</p><p>She sighed, hung her head low. Did everything she could to avoid his eye. "And is it true? Do you mean it?"</p><p>"Well, I wasn't just saying it to get Bishop off your back," he told her gently, but not coming any closer. He knew better. When she got like this it was best to just leave her be, he was learning.</p><p>"Yeah. Yes, I meant it.<em> I mean it,</em> Andy. I love you."</p><p>"That's a strong word."</p><p>"I know that too."</p><p>"…And <em>I think…</em>I think I love you, too."</p><p>"Really?" he asked, feeling like a child. "You do?"</p><p>This time it was her who touched him, who grabbed his hand and interlaced it with hers. In her eyes, he didn't see anything that she might be trying to hide; all he could see was that vibrant amber color that he was immediately drawn to the moment he first saw her. They were clear.</p><p>"Yeah. I love you too, Jack."</p><p>He never once questioned the way that she loved him, he'd just kissed her, kissed her until all she could see, the only sensation she could feel, was his mouth over hers. Maybe that was his downfall. He doesn't question people. He's careless. Reckless. He jumps into things without thinking them through. He's been told that once, by somebody, but it's funny because he can't quite remember who.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Beneath Your Beautiful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Marina, Marina, Marina - for those of you that have been waiting! I can see that Marina is in the vast majority for ships in this fandom - next to Surrera, which I guess makes sense. This fic takes place in the present - tomorrow's episode - 4x07. You guessed it. DeLuca's death. I know, I hate myself too ahaha Anyways, I hope you guys like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Would you let me see beneath your beautiful? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Would you let me see beneath your perfect? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Take it off now girl, take it off now girl, I wanna see inside.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Maya knew what she was getting into with Carina; or at least, she thought she did. A beautiful, ethnic, graceful woman who smelled of spun sugar and antiseptic; a woman who <em>wasn’t in the habit of fixing broken people</em>.</p><p>She’s said that. She did, and Maya believed that she’d meant it, at the time, willfully and deliberate, because as a doctor, Carina likely thrived on the honesty, depended on it to keep her afloat. She could see that understand it, sympathize with it, and so what was said rang true – Carina DeLuca was not in the habit of fixing broken people.</p><p>It’s who she was, earthily, to her core, and Maya – her earth, her core, was broken. It was irreparable, splintered by trauma in so many vital places, that she felt unlovable, that for someone to love her, to want to love her, it would take too much work, and she didn’t want to be a bother like that, for somebody. She wasn’t victimizing herself; Maya Bishop would be the last person to ever do that, but she was a realist.</p><p>Her father loved her for what he could live vicariously through, the materialism that she brought to him, and her mother loved her out of pity for her, having to live with what her father put her through, and her brother, her little brother had hated her guts since she’d won her first competitive race and seen the look of unreachable pride in the eyes of their father, knowing that he would never get there, where it mattered.</p><p>It sucked. Her childhood was rough. Her young adult years, even more so. Then she was out of the house. At the academy. Met Andy. Steeled her frame of mind, kept her mouth straight, her eyes showing nothing, giving nothing away. She worked her ass off, the way she’d been conditioned to do, worked until her lungs burst, until she made it to the top, and she was here now, the first female fire captain, ready to take the whole damn world by storm; but something was missing.</p><p>Some sort of happiness that wasn’t contingent on promotions, achievements, gold medals. Besides Andy, besides 19, she hasn’t felt the security of stable relationships, self-preservation her life motto, even where her friends, and especially her girlfriends, were concerned. Once and done. She’d literally lived her life by so many trite, motivational, calendar, quotes and it was beginning to make her sick. She was done with it. She was <em>so done.</em></p><p>It was like Carina read her mind; she’d come into her life, in that quarter sleeved cardigan, low-cut top, the gold of it nearly blending into her skin, tanned, soft, beautiful, her jeans so tight you could slip a quarter into her back pocket, nursing a glass of white wine and propositioning her with that elegant accent, asking if she could<em> buy her a drink</em> like it was all just so simple. She wished it were.<em> Oh, how she wished it were. </em></p><p>So, she’d changed her mind, said that maybe she wasn’t so sure, and they drank and laughed, and Maya thoroughly enjoyed the warm, icy, feeling of vodka slipping down her throat, because if she was going to make it through the night with Carina DeLuca beside her, drinking, touching her arm, smiling with her eyes in this stupidly smoldering way, pushing those beachy waves behind her ear to reveal dainty diamonds, and rolling those <em>gorgeous</em> r’s, she needed something much stronger than a beer.</p><p>Months later, they were having fun, <em>so much fun,</em> and it was great,<em> so great</em>; the beds were so soft and their skin sliding against each other’s even softer, but then a pandemic ripped them apart. They were forced to be with a phone screen between them, talking stupid, talking pandemic, nothing substantial, not really and she felt, somehow, connected to her still like she hadn’t felt for anybody else.</p><p>(Except that one blinding, confusing, dumb, drunken moment when she’d kissed her best friend and thought <em>sure, I can be in love with her</em>). Luckily for them both, the feeling went away as the alcohol brutally manifested itself into a wicked hangover the next morning, her head hangdog in the porcelain toilet bowl of her bathroom. What an awkward, lovely conversation that would have been.</p><p>Carina was different than any other girl she’s ever met. With her, her hunger was insatiable, and she wanted to be with her every minute of every day, but she couldn’t be, she couldn’t be because of what was currently going on in the world. <em>Unless…</em></p><p>Now, she’s had this conversation with Andy, casual, with a lot of shrugging shoulders, but her best friend could see right through her. She’d given her advice that was specific to her – she’d married Sullivan out of love, but did Maya love Carina, like, really love her? Was she <em>in love</em> with her? She hadn’t stopped to think about it. Maybe she should.</p><p>She thought about the times she woke up in the morning and Carina was beside her still, and with her brain lagging like it was, she hadn’t realized her arm had been thrown over the woman in her sleep, and vice-versa, Carina’s arm was bracing her shoulders, while her own was laying in the apex of her chest, moving with the rise and fall of her breathing.</p><p>She thought about how, in the next few minutes, she would watch her sleep, not like a mother would watch her child, but like a lover would watch, and she suddenly found herself both wistful and hopeful that Carina watches her when she’s asleep, watches her so intensely, that she can catch the scrunching of her eyebrows and the pursing of her lips as she wakes.</p><p>It’s beautiful, it’s enchanting, it’s every other word in the book for what love could possibly mean; and it crosses her mind that maybe she’s chasing a definition, a definition in words, that doesn’t exist, because love, <em>true love, real love,</em> is not that, but a <em>feeling. </em></p><p>She thinks she feels that feeling. And she knows she does, when Carina turns onto her side, props her chin up on one elbow and says to her <em>‘have you been watching me sleep?’ </em>and not a second later, kisses her, kisses her plentiful and deeply on the mouth.</p><p>It makes her head spin, makes her chest ache, makes her miss her, even though she’s right there, and hasn’t even left her bed; not yet, but she will, eventually, give her those sad, puppy eyes, the color of a hot, foamy cappuccino and say, <em>‘I have to go the hospital now.’ </em></p><p>And she’s not ready, not yet; and she doesn’t think she’ll ever be ready for every time she has to go, for their time in this bed, this room, for their time together that hasn’t much left these parameters, to end. And that’s when she knows.</p><p>She doesn’t say it, but she knows, and when she tells Andy that she plans on asking Carina to move in with her, it’s easy, and as for a reaction, Andy doesn’t give much of one, except for a smile like maybe she knew Maya would come to this conclusion all along.</p><p>So, they move in and Carina makes this glorious French toast, and they eat every bite in sexy silence, fruit, and powdered sugar. They shower together, have slow, lazy, morning sex and though the traction of the water makes them laugh and blush and figure out craftier angles, it’s worth it because when they get dressed, they’re watching each other, and it takes everything in the both of them not to strip the other person and drink them in like they haven’t had a thing to drink in weeks.</p><p>Then catastrophe strikes; her brother dies. Her brother dies, her baby brother, and it takes everything she has not to wrap Carina in a safe, warm, bubble, hold her tightly in her arms, keep her underneath those bedsheets, hold the duvet over her head, move her hands, her fingers, her mouth, move them all together in ways that Carina can only dream of being pleasured; so that she doesn’t have to think about one damn thing, nothing but their bodies, so that she’s purely a sexual being and not a broken shell of a woman who just lost the one person who is the other half of her.</p><p>Carina may not be in the business of fixing broken people, and Maya likely wasn’t either, too callous, too cold in the ways of intimacy required to do such a thing, and she’s now comfortable in blaming her father for that, thanks to the woman she loves more than anything, and for her, she would try. She would get into the habit of fixing broken people, because Carina DeLuca was broken, <em>broken</em> in a way that Maya couldn’t fathom to understand, but in a way that maybe Andy could, but as it was, her best friend was dealing with her own shit, her own loss of two such monumental figures in her life and who was she to get in the way of that, right now.</p><p>And so, because Carina was who she was, to her, Maya Bishop was now, and unofficially, in the business of fixing broken people. The one who doesn’t believe she will ever recover.</p><p>Maya had believed that too, once, about herself, and she wouldn’t let Carina go through that kind of existential crisis – it was horrible, it was terrible, it was absolutely soul wrenching, but all anybody could do for her was love her, love her, even when she couldn’t love herself, and she would to the same for Carina.</p><p>She would breathe the air back into her lungs, bring the joie de vivre back into her life, what it was that made her so, insanely beautiful from the inside out. She would find a way to bring it all back, she would find a way if it killed her, because Carina DeLuca was worth it. She would<em> always </em>be worth it to her.</p><p>Right now, Carina was staring blankly at her, staring right through her, into something else. Grief. Loss. Remorse. Guilt.</p><p>“He’s gone,” she said slowly, her voice a hoarse whisper, as though she didn’t quite believe what everybody was saying was true.</p><p>It hurt her beyond measure to see Carina like this, but whatever she was feeling, that didn’t matter right now, and it wouldn’t, not for a long time.</p><p>“Yeah. He’s gone. I’m so, so, so, sorry, baby,” Maya said to her, her own voice shaky and it was like she was speaking with shards of glass stuck in her throat, it hurt so bad to say those words, to say those words to <em>her.</em></p><p>After a few minutes, Andy took Maya’s hand and pulled her aside. “I know a place,” she said, her voice hushed, not wanting to alert the others. To alert Carina.</p><p>“Dr. Grey showed me. I went there after my dad collapsed, after Jack – the skyscraper – during Robert’s surgery. It helps. Trust me on this one.”</p><p>If Maya were being honest, it still felt so, totally, weird that Andy was now calling their once-Battalion-Chief Sullivan <em>Robert,</em> but then again, she guessed they all were now, and the adjustment period would end eventually. They always do. She breathed out with so much force that she felt the air on her face.</p><p>“Okay. I – uh – “</p><p>She looked back over her shoulder to watch Carina who was now leaning on the arm of Teddy Altman, her tears soaking the woman’s shoulder, her hair sticking to her cheeks, matted and oily.</p><p>“Can I bring Carina?”</p><p>Andy gave her a soft, easy smile. “This is for Carina. I just assumed she would want you there, too.”</p><p>Andy wasn’t wrong, but more than that, Maya wanted to be there, she didn’t exactly want to give Carina a choice on the matter. She needed to be there. So, she went over to the pair, and Altman locked eyes with her first, gestured to the shattered woman curled up against her side.</p><p>“She’s all yours, Maya,” Altman spoke to her once she was closer, nudging Carina softly as Maya put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said in response, looked into her girlfriend’s eyes.</p><p>They were less bleary now, the shock beginning to wear off, which was probably going to be the worst part of all of this. Shock was a safety net, shock was a comfort, it shields us from the pain of things we can’t yet face on our own human volition. It’s useful, for traumatic situations such as this one, but it’s also the realist kind of bitch when it leaves, and it’s leaving Carina now, a lot quicker than she would like it to.</p><p>“Baby,” Maya started softly, unassuming, a little nervous.</p><p>“What, Maya? What do you want to say? I’m sorry, but nothing you can possibly say right now will make this hurt any less, okay? So maybe just – just don’t talk to me at all, right now.”</p><p>She had this feeling that Carina meant what she said – that nothing can help her right now, nothing she could say, but what she had in mind wasn’t something that needed to be talked about. She placed her idle hands delicately on both of her shoulders.</p><p>“Andy has this place she wants to show you. So come with me, come with<em> us</em>, okay? And we can just sit, stand, whatever you want. She thinks this place – it will help.”</p><p>Carina’s eyes moved over Andy, literally moved over her, like she wasn’t even there at all. It was the same way she’d been looking at everyone here since hearing the news, and nodded, though it wasn’t necessarily at her.</p><p>“Sure. She can show me the place.” Maya grabbed for her hand, squeezed it tight, interlacing their fingers. “Us. Okay? She can show<em> us</em> the place.”</p><p>Carina looked at Maya the same way she’d just looked at Andy, and for a minute, she wasn’t going to lie, it hurt, seeing the nothingness in her gaze, the nothingness directed at her; even though, really, she knew it wasn’t. It just really, really felt like it and she couldn’t help that. She couldn’t help feeling emotions even when, at the same time, Carina was not. Both of these things were human nature, both of these things, the<em> feeling</em> and the <em>not-feeling</em> were designed to protect them.</p><p>Andy led them down one of the long, endless hospital hallways until they reached an unmarked supply closet. “Here,” she said, a swooping gesture with her hand at the closet.</p><p>Maya was slightly confused. “You took us to…a supply closet?”</p><p>“Not exactly. I took you to what Dr. Grey calls the <em>yelling closet.</em> It’s where you can go to just let everything out whatever you gotta do – scream, cry, hit things, or just sit quietly. Whatever you feel is the best for you right now, Carina.”</p><p>Andy gave her a look of camaraderie. “I don’t know if Maya’s told you, but I lost two very important people in my life recently, Carina. My best friend in the entire world, next to your girlfriend, and my Papi.”</p><p>Maya had a feeling she used Papi in reference to Captain Pruitt to strike something within Carina, some sort of cultural kinship maybe, and at the small twitch of reaction it got out of Carina, she was thankful; hugely, hugely, thankful for Andy. Her best friend.</p><p>She gave her a hug, squeezed a little bit tighter than usual and she could feel Andy’s shoulder heave in sadness. She understood if this were to stir up her own memories of loss, so new they didn’t even have a chance to consolidate, still much too present in day-to-day life, still.</p><p>“Take care of her, okay?” Andy whispered into her hair. “It’s going to get so much rougher before it gets better.”</p><p>“But who’s going to take care of you?” Maya whispered back, genuinely worried.</p><p>She knew that Robert was battling his own conflict, and for whatever reason they had decided to separate, but she hoped to each and every higher power that Andy was getting the support she needed, from people who loved her.</p><p>“I’ve got my people. My person,” Andy told her, her tone reassuring. “Now you go take care of yours.”</p><p>“Copy,” Maya said as she separated from her and the side of Andy’s mouth turned up.</p><p>Taking Carina by the waist, Maya opened the closet door and ushered her inside, closing it behind them as Andy turned back the way they came, stopping at the coffee cart they’d passed by before.</p><p>Now with the door closed, Maya leaned up against one of the supply shelves beside Carina, waiting in the silence for her to say something, anything, or to give her the indication that she wasn’t going to, and that Maya shouldn’t either. None of it came. She did nothing, said nothing, just stood there, putting her weight onto these – honestly not as sturdy as one might think or hope – shelves. It lasted for a few minutes, and Maya thought she might explode from the tension in the small, small, space. Until she finally spoke.</p><p>“What do you want me to do here, Maya? What are we doing here?”</p><p>Maya slid down to sit on one of the carboard boxes lining the closet and dragged Carina down with her by the hand.</p><p>“I don’t know. Whatever you want. Think of something cathartic. It helped Andy, apparently.”</p><p>“Well, what helped your friend won’t necessarily help me, in my grief. I’m sorry but…I lost my brother. He’s dead. And he’s never coming back and I – Andrea is dead.”</p><p>“Yes…” Maya was hesitant, sad, in uncharted territory now. She wasn’t sure what numbered step of grief this was. It was too early for acceptance. It didn’t feel like denial. “He is. And I’m so, so, incredibly sorry, Carina. I am.”</p><p>The look on her face reminded her of a little girl, and all at once, she was that small child who looked up at the blue sky and celebrated the fact that her baby brother was born, but then, just as quicky, she became the grown woman, staring emptily at a cardboard box, mourning the fact that her brother has died.</p><p>“I know you are,” Carina sighed, took her hands in hers.</p><p>“I know you’re sorry love, at it means the world to me, it does, but no amount of feeling sorry, no amount of screaming into the void, crying, punching pillows or what have you is going to bring him back.</p><p>“And all I want to do is let this feeling out somehow, I want to scream until my throat hurts, cry until I have no more tears, be angry until I see red, and sometimes I want to do it all at the same time, but – but – I can’t even let myself to talk to my girlfriend about how I’m feeling.”</p><p>“You’re doing that right now. You’re talking. And I want you to keep talking, if not to me, then please, just talk to someone because you can’t face this alone. It will break you. I know this great therapist, Danielle, she’s amazing for us firefighters…I’m sure she can recommend someone to you. A grief specialist maybe.”</p><p>Carina’s face changed in rapid succession, so fast that she couldn’t even make out any discernable feeling. There were a lot. She knew that. She finally seemed to settle on one as she turned to look at her again.</p><p>“Look, love. I appreciate you so much I do, and I appreciate you trying to take care of me like this. But it’s a lot. A lot at once. You understand that right?”</p><p>All she could do was nod, prompt her to continue.</p><p>“I don’t operate like you do. You have that winner’s mentality, push on through, eyes forward, and it helps you. But – but it doesn’t help me. I think I need time, space, I need to really feel each and every emotion I am bound to feel in the next – what feels like <em>eternity</em>.”</p><p>“Okay…” Maya trailed off, worried that suddenly she was out of this equation, until Carina put a hand on her thigh.</p><p>“And I’ll need you. Unlike you, I can admit when I need help.”</p><p>Maya chose to ignore the less-than-subtle dig. “And I’ll be here. The whole time.”</p><p>Carina held onto her hands. Squeezed them. Hard. As she looked into her eyes, Maya could see everything there beneath the surface – grief, hurt, sadness, pain, all of it struggling to be the emotion at the forefront.</p><p>“I’m broken, Maya. I’m in a thousand jagged pieces and I know what it was like when I lost my mom. And Andrea, he was the closest person to me, before you, and I – this isn’t going to be pretty.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“You aren’t going to like it.”</p><p>She chuckled, but only because that was so obvious. “I know that, too.</p><p>“I’m not sure if you know this baby,” she continued, a feather lightness to her voice, but her face was solemn.</p><p>She held onto her face, formed an hourglass shape around her chin, palms to her cheeks. “But I am in the habit of fixing broken people.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So? Did I do Marina justice? I was nervous about these two, but I hope so!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. you bleed just to know you're alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: I did it. I wrote Surrera. Agh, I kind of really sort of love them together. This takes place immediately after 3x08 and kind of within it – you’ll see what I mean. I hope you guys like it! Reviews, kudos, all of it are my soul food so thank you in advance. Also, sorry for any typos – I haven’t done any re-reading – I wanted to get it up before tonight’s episode so try your best to ignore them if there are any okay? Ahhhh I’m looking forward to hearing what you guys think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>And I don’t want the world to see me…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When everything’s made to be broken…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I just want you to know who I am.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>They were finally doing it. Kissing, that is. <em>God,</em> she had been waiting for this, dreaming of this, all of that swoony, stupid girly shit, she should be charged with because it’s what she’s been doing. All of it. Robert Sullivan, he just does these things to her; he makes her want to twirl her hair, smile pretty, curl her hair, wear a dress, dance.</p><p>He makes her want to dance; she hasn’t danced in years, but for him, she would give just about anything to indolently swish her hips forward, back, side to side to some music; she can’t explain it but there’s something about him, maybe it’s the fact that parts of her also live inside of him, but she wants to harness her heritage again, show it off, be languid, free, luxuriate in the feeling of dance, with him.</p><p>She wanted to do it all, with him. She had the strangest urge to share with him her deepest, darkest secrets, her most intimate, private moments, and if she lets it be because of their shared trauma of the aid car, her feelings might not grow; or that might just be their recipe, because she’ll be the first person to admit that she’s colossally messed up – <em>Baby Rambo ladies and gentlemen</em>, but she knows that he is, too.</p><p>He’s had to fight his own battles, wade through his own trenches, and so maybe, just maybe, that’s what makes them made for each other. Because she thinks she loves him. It’s crazy, but she believes that she might. Her Battalion Chief.  For a minute she lets her mind drift to Hughes and Ripley, and she smiles, but it’s a tragic sort of expression. She wants to do this. She wants to do this for them. She wants to take the chance that they took, but never got to carry out.</p><p>She wants to march up those steps and knock on that door and hope that he’s the one behind it and when they’re finally face-to-face, with nothing in between them but that electrically charged air that seems to follow them, she’ll demand that he kiss her. That he kisses her <em>now.</em> She wants to do all of this before she loses her nerve; and she will. She’s Andrea Herrera for crying out loud. Nothing stops her. <em>She’s Baby Fucking Rambo</em>. <em>Nope – nope – </em>she shakes her head. That is still so entirely messed up and nothing will make her think otherwise.</p><p>She shakes out her nerves and takes a few steps forward. Then back. Pulls on her shirtsleeve. Runs a hand through her hair. Sighs. Stomps her foot. Sighs again. <em>Come on, Andy</em>, she chastises herself, <em>just do it.</em> She does. She goes up those steps, one at a time, almost falls on her face in the process.</p><p>It’s hard, and not because she doesn’t want to be with him, but the ramifications of being with him, they are so great, so dangerous, but she makes it to the door. She looks down the stairs, down past the driveway onto the road, and she has this vague sense of deja-vu, but she doesn’t know why, can’t explain it, and once she knocks on the door, the feeling is gone; it pops, like a bubble, never there in the first place.</p><p>When he opens the door it feels like he doesn’t see her standing there, not right away, but it only takes a second for him to realize that it’s her, and that there’s only one, single reason for her to be. The one they both know is inevitable.</p><p>And so he waits. She says her speech and she really does end it with kiss me now – well a variation of the sort. <em>Everything would be okay for the first time in a really long time if you would just start kissing me now, so… </em></p><p>The words echo in her head long after they’ve been said, long after the deed’s been done, and still, she can’t believe it happened. She can’t believe he really did it. She’s only allowed to sit with that surprise, that element of the unexpected for a few seconds because he can’t help himself, and she, herself; they’re kissing some more and it’s different; it’s seductive, it’s passionate, it’s like a lightening strike, and her jacket’s off, then her shirt, but he’s not stopping there, and neither is she.</p><p>She’s on hot pursuit of his t-shirt, then his belt at his waist, and he pushes her onto the couch and does it himself, though she doesn’t know why, is quite honestly offended by It, because who says a woman can’t take a man’s pants off, why is it always <em>him?</em> She rolls her eyes, he doesn’t see, too notice, hyper- focused on getting them both naked. <em>Mm.</em> She can work with that.</p><p>She feels a laugh bubbling up inside of her, but she works to tame it – his abs are just…she really wasn’t sure what she was expecting, given that he’s a firefighter and all but somehow what she sees just blows her expectations clear out of the water. He takes her in his arms and their bare chests, and their bare legs, just their general bareness touch and that’s when it happens.</p><p>She laughs. She laughs an uncontrollable amount. It’s embarrassing, and he’s looking at her like she’s a bit screwed up in the head, but then he smiles – that dazzling smile, and he’s laughing right along with her.</p><p>“Stop,” she tries to stop laughing, really, she does, but she just can’t, and he keeps smiling at her like he does, and she doesn’t know how to feel.</p><p>Happy, she feels <em>happy, </em>right in this moment, here, with him now, she feels inexplicably happy, and true to her words – everything will be okay. Everything was okay. <em>It was so much more than okay</em>; she leans into his kiss again, their lips on each other’s like a water line to a flame and that’s a really dumb, cheesy, firefighter metaphor and she realizes that she does, but it works, <em>it works</em>, just like she and Robert do.</p><p>They just work. So good. <em>He’s so good.</em> So she keeps on kissing him, getting a little handsy, but he’s really in no place to complain, or contest without being an absolute hypocrite because his hands have been superglued low on her hips for the last five minutes and already she knows that her hips are to be his favorite part of her. She could work with <em>that</em>, too.</p><p>She moves them a little bit, gave them a little shimmy, she couldn’t help it, and true to whatever it was he’s thinking in that brain of his, he breaks apart from their kiss, stared at her hips, they way they felt, the way they moved in his hands.</p><p>“You need to stop doing that,” he murmurs huskily. “You need to stop doing that, or I will have no choice but to – “</p><p>“Fuck me on your couch?” she interrupts him with an impish grin she knew would very likely drive him crazy.</p><p>“F- f – “</p><p>He was practically choking on the word, salivating because of it, and yet, <em>yet - h</em>e wasn’t able to say it.</p><p>“What’s the matter, Robert?” she teases him, that smile of hers growing. “Cat got your tongue?”</p><p>“I – “</p><p>He stutters and she revels in it. If anybody were to ask her, she wouldn’t deny that, in this situation, the whole rank side of things was really turning her on; here, she had the upper hand; here, he was the submissive one; here, right now; she was the boss and she couldn’t get enough of it.</p><p>She grabs his face in her hands, moves her thumbs up and down along his cheeks, traces the slight dimple in his left. It’s almost too intimate, too gentle of a gesture to have a place here, but she can’t help it. He has fine cheekbones, as if they were chiselled out of bronze. “It’s just a word, Robert. You can say it.”</p><p>He was holding his breath, shakes his head as he meets her gaze; it’s dark, filled with a lustful turmoil. “No. I can’t. I can’t do that….to<em> you</em>.”</p><p><em>Shit.</em> She knows what this is. Vulnerability. Seeing another person in such a breakable, emotional state before their ready – before you’re ready – it does this. She knows firsthand.</p><p>Ryan –<em>may he rest in peace</em>– when they were fifteen with their lumbering limbs and all sorts of confused about the ways of intimacy, whatever that meant for encumbered teenagers, he wouldn’t touch her. Refused to.</p><p>They’d of course kissed before, made-out a little bit, or a lot, but he would shut down the prospect of sex whenever it came up, claiming that losing their virginity was a big deal, sacred, and all of those other virtuous things, but Andy wasn’t a wear-white-on-my-wedding-day type of girl, and he knew that, and he was a guy, so she’d just assumed he would want it.</p><p>Of course, they did it eventually, and it was what it was, but she’s convinced that it was so hard for him at first because he couldn’t stop comparing her to the girl he once knew.</p><p> The girl who threw up on herself in elementary school; the only girl who didn’t absolutely refuse to sweat in high-school gym class; the girl who could eat ten jumbo dogs in a row and not throw up (she did have heartburn for a solid three days after).</p><p>He couldn’t stop seeing the girl who, at nine years old, he held as she cried into his shoulder, getting snot and tears and all of that goopy stuff all over his shirt, for hours. Vulnerability. It sometimes harms relationships more than it helps them, at least, it seems like, where she is concerned. Vulnerability sucks.</p><p>“What are you thinking about? Hm?” He asks her, nearly whispers.</p><p>She wonders how lost in thought she must really look, because it seems like he doesn’t want to startle her. She’s caught now. There’s no way she can say <em>Ryan</em> without effectively ruining whatever mood they were creating here. She can’t have him see her as this woman in mourning, not right now, and still, she shouldn’t be thinking about Ryan in the first place.</p><p>There’s a time and a place for that. Five beers deep, facedown on the couch in Maya’s apartment, where the cushions can muffle her screams. Of anguish. Of anger. Where she can mold herself into them, hoping that they would suck her in, envelop her and fill that deep, hallow pit in her stomach with something, anything; <em>God, </em>she’d nearly called Jack <em>–had dialed the numbers,</em> craving human contact, human touch, because maybe sexual healing was in fact the way to go. It wasn’t, not like that, but as drunk as she’d been, as lost as she’d felt, anything was better than lying there alone.</p><p>Except that <em>Robert </em>– he was the one she wanted; and now she’s about to screw up the very-likely possibility of the two of them finally hooking up, of finally doing something with all of this tension, love, lust, both; because she’s thinking about him, <em>about Ryan,</em> and everything about Ryan now was just <em>too fucking sad. </em></p><p>“The aid car,” she settled on after a second, actively willing thoughts of Ryan from her brain, and it wasn’t a whole lie, only half, because now her mind really was on the aid car.</p><p>That day. Those long, long, hours of adrenaline, stress, the loss of triumph once they lost their patient, the slow, burning, loss of hope that anybody was going to come for them.</p><p>Robert had been with her in the aid car. That’s where everything started, but now she was realizing, that’s also where everything could end.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah. That was a hell of a day.”</p><p><em>A hell of a day</em> didn’t even begin to describe what went on for them, and he has to know that she’s sure he does, but talking about it, attaching to it more intimacy than it needs, right now, would do more harm than it would good. She knows that. He knows that. They’re smart, together, like that.</p><p>She’d watched him slowly and painfully lose feeling in his legs and she sat there with him as his face took on this horror, this naked realization that he might never be able to walk again, never be able to have that thing in his life that fulfills him like nothing else does.</p><p>It changes a person, watching another go through a grief like that, something so intrinsic, something so unique to their person, something where self-preservation, hiding from the fear, is no longer an option because even if you try your damn hardest to shy away from it, make no mistake, it will eat you whole.</p><p>On his side of things, she watched his concern for her continue past the time in the aid car, days, weeks, maybe more, she felt him there, his eyes always on her, even when they weren’t; it was something serious, something real, and she explains it like it’s something sinister but what she’s learning is that love can be sinister, that the best kind of love usually is.</p><p>“Look, Robert, I’m in love with you. And I know things aren’t going to be fun and simple with us – the aid car, it just proves that even from the ground, where we started, wasn’t simple. <em>God, it was anything but simple</em>. It was <em>terrifying. </em>But I’m ready to be challenged, I am so ready.”</p><p>She takes a breath, lets the air back into her lungs and waits for him to volley. If that’s really what he wants. Damn it, she hopes so. If he doesn’t…she won’t know what to do.</p><p>“Andrea…”</p><p>He lets out a breath, watches her with not only his eyes, but his hands as they touch hers, his knee as it bumps hers, his lips as they ghost her forehead. She can feel him there, everywhere, and she knows that she’s blushing, fights to divert her gaze from his as he watches, but he won’t let her.</p><p>There’s something about the way he calls her <em>Andrea,</em> there’s an intimacy about it that makes her embarrassed, but she won’t tell him to stop because it also warms her heart, her limbs, it warms every, single part of her – <em>he</em> warms every single part of her, and it’s a feeling, how she feels with him, that she’d never thought she would ever get to touch in this lifetime. Not after Ryan, but even then, Ryan was her past, he always had been, even when he was her present, and now Robert, he was her future. If he wants to be.</p><p>“You know that I’m in love with you too.” He kisses her temple, rubs her back, goes low, then higher, again, and it feels like he’s teasing her. “You know that.”</p><p>“You say the words,” she starts and now it’s her turn to touch him; she touches his thighs, runs her hands over them, then up towards his groin, his chest. His beautiful, bare, chest. “Now it’s time to show me with actions…”</p><p>She leans forward and kisses him, and it’s slow but by no means is it soft. He gets into it, much to her relief, hugs her close, his fingers clutching at the hair closest to her scalp. Now he’s laying on top of her, but not yet baring his full weight and she knows now to be careful with him too, bot sure what the pain was before, but ultimately she knows it could come back again and she has no way of knowing what triggers it. She just knows that it’s there.</p><p>“We can’t go back,” he says to her, their foreheads leaning against one another’s. “You’re okay with that?”</p><p>“Robert…” she says back to him, leaving a long, lingering kiss to his mouth, grasping tightly at the back of his head. “I am <em>so much more</em> than<em> okay</em> with it.”</p><p>That’s all it took. They were naked before she could blink, and she was feeling like this might be faster than she thought; but then he stopped. He just <em>stopped.</em></p><p>“What? What, is something wrong? I know that you were in pain before – that day we tried to do this at the station – I could see it in your eyes. I know what pain looks like for you, Robert, and I hate that I do, this early on, but it’s the hand we were dealt, so are you in pain now? Because we can stop if – “</p><p>“No.” He put his hand gently on her arm to stop her from speaking. “No, it’s just that…you’re so beautiful. You’re so beautiful, and I just feel so lucky…”</p><p>He leans down and litters butterfly kisses all over her chest, and she feels her hips move, her back arch, and she hates that she’s so sexually frustrated right now because this was such a sweet moment.</p><p>“I feel the same way,” she gasps, her fingers trailing across the lines of his abdomen, the<em> v </em>of his pelvis.  “Exactly the same way…”</p><p>Their lips meet again and there are things swirling around inside of her, everything, and she can barely breathe but she doesn’t want to, not if it means losing what she’s feeling right now. She could die like this. She really could; and then she backtracks and silently sends up an apology to Ryan, <em>gone too soon but never forgotten,</em> or whatever it is that people beguilingly assume makes the grieving feel better. It’s stupid, it’s not true, so why she’s thinking it now…she almost laughs.</p><p>She’s so happy right now, she’s finally feeling okay, and he’s inside of her before she can even picture what that feeling is going to be like, and she’s sent into orbit. She swears that for the rest of her life she will be circling his orbit, because there is not a feeling in the world quite like this one, like him so humanely, biologically, physically, emotionally close to her.</p><p>He’s apart of her now, in every sense, and she’s apart of him, and she almost naively claims that the part of her that is him is the very best part of her, but that could be the sex talking, her arousal talking, because that would be doing her dad, Ryan, all of 19, the people she loves, and misses still, an unfair injustice; because she’s <em>Andrea Herrera</em>, she’s as much her own self as she is a makeup of the people whom she spends her life with, whom she chooses, and while Robert is one of those people, very much so, he won’t ever be all of her.</p><p>Except right now, because right now, as she comes and her physical body spasms and writhes under the influence of an orgasm, her emotional self reaches outside of it, it reaches and reaches until it touches his, and then his eyes finally close as he comes undone above her, and now she bathes in the pleasure of watching him, just like he had been watching her; she can feel his heart and knows that he can feel hers and the blood is <em>pumping…pumping…pumping…</em>and then there’s a celestial outer-body kind of experience, and if she didn’t know that she’s in love with him before, she definitely knows it now.</p><p>“Oh my god,” she collapses into the couch cushions as he rolls off of her, but then he immediately pulls her against him. Kisses the back of her head. <em>“Oh my god.”</em></p><p>“I know,” he chuckles a little bit. “We’re pretty good at that.”</p><p>She laughs. “Pretty good!? Are you kidding me!?”</p><p>Again, he chuckles, kisses her where her spine protrudes the most. He doesn’t say anything though. Maybe he’s afraid to break the spell; she could still feel it in the air, golden, bright, sparkly, like fairy dust.</p><p>She’s a realist. Prides herself on the fact, so she does it for them. “So, what are we going to do now?”</p><p>He shrugs. She knows that’s what he does because she can feel his shoulders move against her back. “You tell me.”</p><p>She turns over, doesn’t say anything. She just kisses him again. And again. And again. “This. We are going to keep doing this.” She grinds her hips against his, straddles him as he sits up to meet her. “Until we can’t move anymore.”</p><p>“Mm…I like the sound of that.”</p><p>Taking her by surprise, he grabbed her butt cheeks in both hands and lifted her up into his arms as he stood, nearly backing into the coffee table.</p><p>For a second, she worried about that pain again, and hated that’s what she was doing because this was supposed to be the fun honeymoon stage, she shouldn’t know about any pain, any suffering, not yet. But she does, she does and it’s how they work, the two of them, and she just hopes and prays that it doesn’t push them into a crash landing before they even have the chance to get off the ground.</p><p>As he holds her flush against him like this, he’s not aware of her thoughts and she likes that, takes advantage of it as she begins to kiss up and down his neck, like he’s doing to her, and before she moves to his lips, they’re in the bedroom and he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and she can tell that he has no intention of letting her get off his lap anytime soon. Damn it because she<em> really</em> wants to have sex again.</p><p>Another thirty seconds pass – <em>yes, she counted</em> – and it’s like he’s reading her mind; they’re in the middle of the bed and in another ten seconds he’s inside of her and after that…after that, she has absolutely no sense of the time passing, but after it’s all said and done and they’re sweaty and breathing hard, she sees the clock on his nightstand, the old Western novel, worn and torn over probably multiple reads, just barely blocking the numbers from her view.</p><p><em>5’o clock.</em> Whether or not it’s AM or PM she could care less. Time ceases to exist as a societal construct when she’s around him. From the aid car to his bed, it always has. She likes it. She likes it a lot because without the pressure of time, of being on some sort of track, she can just let go. She can <em>just be. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like 'Iris' really speaks to their relationship and I love the angst in the lyric I chose for the title (it's in reference to the shared trauma they suffered in the aid car) but I don't know how I feel about the ending of this one - or this one in general, actually eep.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. karma</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Single word - karma <br/>couple - Robert/Andy <br/>setting - season 4 cute domesticated shit <br/>word count: 202 - look at me go! Even closer ha</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andy laughed. She couldn’t help it. She tried not to, at first. She was laughing so hard her sides were cramping, but it was worth it. It was oh, so worth it.</p>
<p>Robert looked at her, his eyebrows scrunched, his eyes narrowed, like maybe he was going to get upset, annoyed, angry, whatever, but then he surprised her by laughing. She had no idea if it was the domino effect or what, but there it was, and it all only made her laugh harder.</p>
<p>There was chili on the hardwood floor, the large, stainless pot over on its side, and if she stepped in just the right spot, there was a squelching sound under her feet and a stain on her skin that she knew would take a few showers to get off but again, worth it.</p>
<p>“This reminds me of that episode of <em>The Office</em>,” she said then, her cheeks sore from smiling.</p>
<p>“I told you not to grab the pot without an oven mitt, but you didn’t listen. And you know what that is?” she asked him before he had a chance to respond, but maybe he hadn’t heard her.</p>
<p>She was sure he did.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Karma. Pure karma, sweetheart.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author's Note: Review, Review, review! Where are my Station 19 lovers at? Because Grey's doesn't deserve all of the attention.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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